A Ghost In the Bedroom
by ADeerInHeadlights
Summary: 'Because Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissus Malfoy and heir to the Malfoy fortune, didn't believe in such rubbish. ' AU, Drarry.
1. Chapter 1

So, this is completely AU. Ages have been screwed with, places changed, powers taken, powers added, blah blah. Really...I just needed something to write and this idea seemed good ha.

Oh, and if you don't like Drarry, I suggest you turn back now.

(Obviously I don't own anything in this story [characters, blah] that come from the Harry Potter series. They all belong to JK Rowling.)

* * *

Draco Malfoy did _not_ believe in ghosts.

The young aristocrat had learned at a tender age that ghosts were make believe entities created by parents to control their wild children, much like werewolves, vampires and the boogie man. How else could the notion of someone dying and coming back to life just to punish someone's child for not brushing their teeth be logical? The idea was simply ridiculous.

Frankly, Draco was pleased that his parents had never lowered themselves to such crude standards of discipline when he had rebelled as a child. They took his possessions, spanked him and made him do the servants work to punish him, but they had never threatened him with make believe 'ghosts.' This, Draco believed, was what made him so above the bumbling idiots he called his peers at his newest school, Hogwarts.

Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, was a business man who often moved his family from place to place as he worked on expanding his empire and his fortune. Until a week ago, the Malfoy's had been living in America for a little under two years. Draco had been ecstatic when he had heard they would be returning to England, having grown tired of the American way of life and the people who inhabited the large country. The young Malfoy had left behind no friends and no acquaintances – he may have spent two years there, but Draco had known that eventually he would move once more, and so what was the point of attempting to make friends anyway? No one there had been at his level, but try as he might, Draco hadn't been able to stop himself from wishing maybe being back in his home country would allow him to find someone, anyone who he might consider being friendly with. So far, he had found no one.

Hogwarts was a school steeped in tradition, having been around for what the headmaster claimed to be hundreds, if not thousands of years. Every student, from those who had just entered the school to those who were about to leave it, were placed into one of the four houses on the moment of their arrival and were expected to stay true to that house for the remainder of their time at the school. There were house common rooms for free periods, equip with dormitories for those students who boarded there during the school year, and a huge dining hall and library for all to use. Despite what Draco liked to call the 'rich and educated' atmosphere the school held, everyone he had met on his first day seemed to be functioning on brain levels below what humans needed to survive. His prime examples of this (that he had used to explain to his mother that night how dreadful the school was) were two boys in his year and house, Crabbe and Goyle.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had come across to Draco as not humans, but gorillas in human suits. They had attached themselves to his hips as soon as the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, had placed Draco in Slytherin house. For the first half of the morning, when Draco had attended his first classes and was irritated to find that Crabbe and Goyle shared them with him, he had believed they could not talk but only grunt. For a brief moment he had felt hopeful that this speech impediment was what made them so dumb, but was only let down when he had realized they were actually speaking English in grunting tones. By lunch, which Draco thankfully did not share with the two gorillas, the newest Slytherin thought he was going insane. However, it wasn't until the next period did he truly feel the urge to snap.

His class after lunch was Math, something Draco thought might relax him after the stressful first half of his first day. He was after all an excellent mathematician, something every math teacher he'd had from London to Sydney praise him for, and found the combination of equations and complicated formulas as good as a bit of meditation. He had stepped into the class and instantly felt some hope for sanity…until Crabbe and Goyle had bounded in behind him, grunting at him with stupid smiles on their faces. Apparently their math teacher (who taught a much lower grade of math that just happened to be on at the same time as Draco's advanced class) was away sick, and so Professor Granger who taught Draco's class had agreed to merge the two maths together for one day. Feel queasy, Draco had taken a seat at the back with Crabbe and Goyle, who instantly returned to the meaningless drabble they'd been talking about early in the day.

It was then Draco heard them talking to him, and found himself unwilling being pulled into the conversation.

"So where do you live?" Crabbe had asked, and Draco had told them about the small but wealthy village his parents had moved the Malfoy's to not far from Hogwarts called Godric's Hollow. Goyle had instantly begun grunting excitedly at the name and waving frantically at Crabbe, who had smiled.

"You didn't move into…the Potter's old house, did you?" He whispered dramatically, leaning so close to Draco he had been able to smell something like rotted fruit on the boy's breath. That had been one question Draco hadn't been able to answer. He didn't know if he'd moved into the Potter's old house, and he also didn't know who the Potter's were. All he knew was the house Lucius had moved the family into had recently been renovated, and was a tad smaller than the home they'd had in America. Draco didn't mind though, because it had a purely English charm to it that he'd been deprived of for two long years.

"Well," Crabbe had smiled knowingly at Goyle, who was giggling with glee, "Let's hope it wasn't the Potter's house you moved into. That place is _haunted_. With a _ghost._"

"Not haunted with bats?" Draco had been unable to snap back, irritated that Crabbe thought he wouldn't understand that when he said haunted, he meant by a ghost and not some other evil creature that haunted things.

"Haunted by bats? Bats don't haunt." Crabbe had replied seriously, giving Draco worrying looks for the rest of the lesson like _he_ was the superior one because he didn't mix up bats and ghosts.

Two seconds into the newest chapter of his life, and already he'd heard the word ghost. Draco couldn't understand the fascination with the subject, or why people chose to believe in such nonsense. Ghosts weren't real. If Draco had indeed moved into the Potter's house, which he doubted, he wasn't going to walk down one of its corridors to find a ghost hanging about to scare him anytime in the near future. Because ghosts weren't real. Because Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and heir to the Malfoy fortune, didn't believe in such rubbish.

Unfortunately for Draco, disbelief wasn't going to save him from the ghost of the Potter Mansion.


	2. Chapter 2

_**So, uh, gets a bit gory at the end but hey, maybe I'm just a really big chicken *cough*likemalfoy*cough***_  
_**Also, thanks for the reviews Veneya and RosesAreForever23, I appreciate it :)**_

* * *

Draco's second week at Hogwarts was a considerable improvement on the first, mainly because he finally found someone who knew what intelligent conversation was. Of course, that didn't mean the boy was flawless. Blaise Zabini lived in a manor on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow with his widowed mother, and had been attending Hogwarts since he was 13. He was tall, with ebony skin and deep brown eyes that seemed to make girls swoon whenever he looked at them. He was quiet, a trait Draco was particularly fond of, but when he did speak it was with an air of knowledge and superiority that Draco had thought only he had claim to. Compared to the rest of the idiots at Hogwarts, Blaise was the perfect candidate to be Draco Malfoy's first acquaintance.

They had met on Draco's third day, literally bumping into each other in the entrance to the Slytherin common room. They had eyed each other dubiously for a few moments after the collision, the other students watching with curiosity, until Draco had stuck out his hand and given Blaise one of his trademark smirks.

"Draco Malfoy. And you are…?" He'd asked, hoping beyond hope he wasn't about to meet another cretin.

"Blaise Zabini. We share math, don't we?"

Really, that was the only reason Draco had given Blaise a chance. It only seemed logical that if they shared maths, they also shared an intelligence level lost on people such as Crabbe and Goyle. From that first meeting, the pair had become inseparable. Blaise was the first person Draco felt like he could connect with, and Draco was the first person who had _ever_ tried to befriend the cold hearted Blaise. It also seemed that while the boys had met at school, their mother's had met at some upper society social gathering, and become quite friendly towards each other. Draco felt sure if his mother approved of the family, he would be safe to possibly let Blaise become his first friend.

But before he could do that, Blaise had to pass a few tests.

On the Friday of Draco's second week, after school had finished for the day, the young Malfoy had caught Blaise just as he was leaving Biology. They had cheerfully walked towards the entrance hall with each other, sneering and laughing at the end-of-week stupidity of some of the other students, while enjoying the first moments of freedom for the weekend. Before they had walked through the grand doors of the school towards the car park, Draco had pulled Blaise aside.

"Mother would like to know if you and your own mother would join us for dinner tomorrow night," Draco had asked, smirking to hide his fear of rejection, "Father has left on one of his business trips again and we would enjoy your company."

"Of course, I'm sure mother will be delighted. She's always complaining about being cooped up in the manor anyway," Blaise had laughed, clapping Draco on the back and leaving to find his ride home. Though his face was composed into a friendly farewell, on the inside Draco was cheering. Dinner was the test Blaise had to pass, and Draco was quite sure he'd excel with flying colours.

The next evening couldn't come quick enough for Draco, and he spent his Saturday completing all the catch up homework he had to endure to be 'on level' with the rest of the Hogwarts population. Considering Draco had breezed through every question within a few hours without breaking a sweat, he was quite sure the homework was actually meant to bring him down a couple of notches. After that, he had resumed his exploration of his newest home. With its new renovations, the new Malfoy residence was quite impressive. It sported six bedrooms, each equipped with their own bathroom, two living areas, a large dining room with a table for twelve, a sun room, a study with a library and a large entertaining area and pool in the garden. Compared to some of the other homes Draco had lived in during his lifetime, the house was quite small. If his mother ever convinced his father to hold a family reunion like they had when Draco was 8, they would have no were near as many rooms for guests to stay in as they did in the home they had owned in Australia. For the time being however, family get togethers excluded, the house was perfect for the three Malfoy's.

Draco's check of the house hold only took another hour from his wait, and left him with plenty of time to laze about in his bedroom, starring out the window. Draco had heard from one of the builders that his room had been virtually untouched in the renovations, apart from some paint and new flooring. He was quite glad of that really; the small room wasn't as big as he was used to but it certainly was cozy. All of his possessions fitted nicely amongst the walls, and if you didn't include a few books he had to place in the library that suited Draco just fine. He enjoyed his lavish lifestyle, but sometimes less was more.

At a quarter to 7, after finishing two books and changing his outfit twenty times, Draco stood with his mother at the front door, greeting Blaise Zabini and his mother Heather into the house. After the formal greetings, Draco whisked Blaise to his room, where the two boys made simple chit chat before being called down to dinner at 7 o'clock. As they sat down, Heather had done a quick up and down of Draco and smiled at him and his mother.

"You've got a fine boy there Narcissa. Very handsome," She had purred, gaining a laugh from Draco's mother and an eye roll from Blaise. _She always does this,_ Blaise mouthed to Draco, who smirked and looked down at his plate, attempting to appear bashful.

"Well, you've got quite a son as well Heather," Narcissa had countered, smiling in Blaise's direction, "I bet you've got the girls at school wrapped around your fingers."

"Oh, Blaise isn't very fond of _those_ girls, are you sweetie?" Heather laughed, and Blaise smiled.

"Well, it's like you say mother. There are few decent people in the world, and even fewer who are also rich," Blaise answered with a smirk, and the dining room was filled with laughter and the sound of Draco choking on his drink.

Dinner past swiftly, and soon desert was on the table and the two mothers and their sons had split into two different conversations. Blaise was recounting a tale about Crabbe and Goyle's stupid childhood misadventures, when Draco remembered the conversation he had shared with the pair on his first day.

"Did you know on my first day last week, they decided the best conversation to have with me was one about how this house is supposedly haunted?" Draco laughed, and Blaise chuckled along with him.

"Haunted? This place? How did they come up with that?" He asked, and Draco shrugged, taking a sip from his glass.

"Apparently one of the old residents – the Peters or something – haunts this place."

"Not the Potter's?" Blaise asked, curious.

"Yes! The Potter's, that was it," Draco exclaimed.

"Wow…is this really the Potter's house then?" Blaise asked, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Draco shrugged once more.

"I'm not quite sure. The house was renovated shortly before we moved in, and a lot has been changed. I haven't seen houses around here with Potter on their letter boxes though, so it might be."

Blaise whistled and leaned back in his chair, continuing his sweeping gaze around the room.

"Well, if it is the Potter house, I'm not surprised they think it's haunted. The whole family got murdered in that house after all."

Draco, who had been idling tracing patterns on the table top, snapped his head up to look at Blaise with shock.

"Murdered?" Draco whispered unintentionally, feeling stupid, "Ahem…I mean, someone was murdered? In this village?" He repeated, and Blaise nodded rigorously.

"About 13 years ago, there was a lunatic in these parts calling himself Voldemort. Completely insane, went around killing people he thought weren't 'pure' or who weren't 'special' like him. At the time, the two detectives assigned to catching him were Mr. and Mrs. Potter, a husband and wife team who had a 17 year old son, Harry."

Blaise's voice was low and chilling, sucking Draco in with every word. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw his mother and Heather turn towards the two boys, stopping their own conversation to listen in.

"Now, while Mr. and Mrs. Potter were searching for Voldemort, he was also searching for them. They'd been put into protective watch in this village, because after Voldemort had found out they were after him, he'd issued a message stating they were 'impure' and had to be dealt with. No one's sure how he found them, but Voldemort learned of their location in this village and came to pay them a visit. Unfortunately, neither of the Potter's had been prepared and were slaughtered before they could raise the alarm. A while later, their son Harry returned home, and was killed as well. It was a huge tragedy but afterwards, no one heard from Voldemort again. They say one of the Potters does still lurk these halls, searching for their killer to bring him to justice once and for all."

Blaise, who had leaned forward onto the table to tell his story, leant back in his chair and laughed evilly. His mother threw him a dark look.

"Now Blaise, I didn't think I'd ever hear such rubbish from you," She scolded with a mean look in her eye, "The real thing was nowhere near as dramatic. And Voldemort didn't disappear afterwards, he was caught and imprisoned."

"I know mother, I was just trying to explain to Draco how some idiots at school have turned the whole sad affair into some stupid urban myth!" Blaise protested, and the look in Heather's eyes softened. "Ghosts are make-believe monsters created to scare kids, and those without brains. We all know that."

These words pulled Draco from his stupor, and he smiled wildly at Blaise.

"So I'm not the only one who thinks ghosts are, for a lack of a better term, stupid?" He asked. Blaise nodded, and Draco felt his smile grow even wider.

_Blaise Zabini,_ he thought, _I'm going to enjoy having you as a friend._

* * *

Later that night, after Blaise and his mother had left and Draco had retired to his room for the night, Draco lay awake with Blaise's ghost story ringing in his ears. Just thinking about it made the air around Draco feel cold, though he put it off to not being used to the English weather from being in America for so long. It was a much more logical reason for the cold than say, Draco Malfoy being scared of a ghost story. It just didn't happen.

_Though really, it isn't a ghost story, _Draco's mind persisted as he rolled onto his stomach, pulling his covers over his head. _Three people really were murdered here…_

_Except there's no proof that this is – was – the Potter's house, _Draco countered himself, shutting his eyes firmly and dismissing all Potter related thoughts from his mind. He would sleep, and in the morning he'd laugh at his stupid thoughts and Blaise's stupid story.

Slowly, Draco drifted off into the dream world, dreaming peacefully about a summer in Rome when his dream began to darken then fade. A chill swept through him, and he tried to wake, but the dream refused to let him go…

_Blood, dripping from the ceiling. Oh god, the ceiling. He'd known, he'd seen the files and the victims and oh god, the ceiling. Streaks of red and bits of flesh still hanging from the light fixture, drip drip dripping onto the soaked carpet below. There was a bloody hand mark on the window, a cry for help that no one saw, and paper's scattered everywhere, covered in red. Everything was painted with the crimson that seemed to cloud his vision and his other senses until he was drowning in it. One step, two, and then more red. A bloody hand, mangle, broken, hanging off one side of the dining table. Words caught in his throat, like the knife caught deep within the corpse's throat, buried among the red and flashes of white bone. Help, help, help, no, please, no…  
And then a red hand grabbed him, and his heart flew to his throat and he knew he had to run –_

Draco wretched himself from his bed sheets, smothering a scream with his hand and breathing heavily. Something wet dripped on his hand and his mind instantly flashed back to the blood in his nightmare, causing last night's dinner to rise into his throat. Pulling back his hand, he felt relieved to find it was just one of the many tears that were streaming down his cheeks and onto his pajama top. He felt shaky and sick and scared out of his mind, flinching as bright sunlight slowly filtered into his room with the rising sun outside. Draco felt horrid. Where had that nightmare come from? Had Blaise's ghost story really affected him that much?

_No, no that's not it, it can't be!_ Draco told himself sternly, but couldn't find the strength to leave his bed, lest a skeletal red hand grabbed him and dragged him back to that disturbing nightmare. _You scardy cat! _Draco insulted himself, but still he couldn't move; his legs heavy and dead.

One story and he was having nightmares. He, Draco Malfoy, who wasn't afraid of ghosts but was apparently afraid of a bit of blood. Still, that hadn't been one of Draco's ordinary naked-in-public nightmares. Where had it come from?

That question, Draco decided, would be left for later…maybe when the sun had fully risen and the shadows weren't so big in his room anymore.


End file.
